Like Roses
by TrinityThatcher
Summary: Spike ponders his relationship with the Bebop's newest member, Kylie, sparking a deep look into his own reasons why he's afraid to let her into his heart. (A one-shot made for a friend of mine)


As the imposing tan figure of the great ship Bebop sailed through inky black space, passing the tiny lights of stars like a child with their hand in a swarm of fireflies at night, there was a singular being staring out one of the many large bay windows.

Now, this person was not contemplating space or the cosmos, nor where they thinking of any deep or philosophical truths in the universe like most people who stare at the stars do. They weren't even thinking of how pretty the stars were, like the other percentage of people would. Yet they stared into the unending black as if it held within it some sort of undeniable truth that, if they simply reached out and grabbed hold of it, they could be enlightened to.  
No such thing existed in the space or right in front of them, and they doubted they would grab it anyways should it appear because they were just that kind of stubborn and stupid.

On this day (or possibly night, no one could tell without consulting a clock), Spike Spiegel stood in the control room of the venerable ship, a cigarette to his lips and a hand to his forehead. The thinking was giving him a small headache. He didn't appreciate it.  
The trouble was that he wasn't even thinking anything profound, though the subject matter itself was so beyond his facility that he might as well have been pondering the meaning of human life. He couldn't fathom what made it so difficult, because it was something anyone could probably find out with a little research. Except it was above his pride to research this specific thing.

Spike 'tsked', exhaling a stream of smoke from between his teeth. "Dammit... I can't just let it hang, though."

He heard the hiss of a sliding door behind him, and turned to see a figure clad scantily in yellow and red float up to him in the ease of zero-gravity. She smirked, holding out her perfectly manicured nails, to which the fuzzy-haired male answered with a sigh and plucked a cigarette from his pocket.

"Aw, you're so sweet. You didn't have to~"  
"You're a bitch when we cut you off, and I don't like stupid arguements."  
"You're so mean! You know, this is why you can't get girls to like you."

The raven-haired female lifted a lighter to the end of the smoking implement between her lips and took a long drag, holding it in her lungs before puffing the residual smoke out of her nose.  
"So? What's got you sitting in here brooding this time?" she asked callously.

Spike sighed, running a hand though his knotty hair in tired frustration. "Deep stuff. It's a problem I just can't solve."

"Oh? Pray tell, young man. I am the Solomon of Bebop."

Spike raised a quizzical brow; the woman never helped anyone for any reason other than her own personal gain. Why was she so interested in his problems?

"...What's in it for you?"

The woman tittered, pinching her cigarette between her fingers and releasing a puff of carcinogens into the air with every short burst of breath.  
"Nothing much. I'm a curious woman who loves gossip. And judging from your irritation, yooooooou..." She leaned in a little, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "are having girl problems."

Spike's eye twitched at her close proximity, his fag breaking in the pinch of his first and fore fingers and spitting tiny shreds of tobacco leaf into zero gravity.  
Damn the perceptive ability of this woman.

His gaze shifted to her, his expression irked. "...Which makes you care why?"

The woman flashed a red-painted smirk.

"Because women like me need to always be on the receiving end of such gripping gossip."

* * *

Spike heaved a heavy sigh, hands stuffed in his pockets. Everything the stupid woman had told him was completely off the mark.

_"What women want?!" she had laughed, her face a mix of bemused and delighted. "You want to know what women want, what they like? No wonder you can't figure this out!"_

_She'd raised her nose in the air with a smug smile, looking pompous. "Of course, when it comes to knowing what all women want, there is no better person to ask than me. Consider me your personal issue of Cosmo."_

_"Yeah, that's great Faye," he had tried to reason, "but the girl's not the, uh... Cosmopolitan kind, ya get it?"_

_She'd raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then what kind of girl's got your shriveled up little Grinch heart in her grip?"_

_At this, he'd paused. This information could potentially hurt him. He wasn't particularly good with diction._

_"The... younger kind..."_

_"How young are we talking, mister __cradle robber?"_

_"Jeezus, Faye, 18. 18."_

_He winced as Faye's lips broke into a mischievous grin. She'd probably guessed who it was._

_"Well then. I haven't read an issue of 'Tiger Beat' or 'Seventeen' lately, but I suppose I can give it a shot."_

_She'd taken a drag of her cigarette and let the smoke slip out past her parted lips._

_"First off. Chicks are horny, 15 and up. Sex is always a good option."_

_Spike winced. "I'll keep that in mind," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, "anything else?"_

_"Well... money, girls always like money, so they can go buy whatever they want. And girls like jewelry and things that shine. Oooh, like cars and statuettes and that glitter body paint-"_

_"Fucks sake, Faye, could you be serious for ten seconds?"_

_"Ahhahaha~! Am I frustrating you~? I've told you what I know."_  
_She'd shrugged with an 'I-don't-care' attitude. "I don't know. Girls at that age also like CDs and teddy bears and makeup. I mean, unless you know the girl and what her interests are, you can't buy something specific. Just give her money or jewelry or perfume or something."_

_Spike had simply sighed and shaken his head. "That won't work. This girl is different. This girl is..."_  
_He'd searched for the perfect word, the perfect thing to describe this girl. But he in all his wisdom could not conjure the words to describe the impression she left on him. She was a constant presence on the ship, like a pest or a certain scent that he couldn't get rid of but wouldn't want to anyways. She was too familiar, too homey; it made him uneasy and at the same time contented._  
_The girl was like an object of comfort to him, and he feared that. Not the kind that coddled him and saved him from the edge of his sanity, but the kind that was ever-present and kept him from wandering to the edge in the first place. She was like soft, warm dawn and pastel field flowers. He could hide himself in her wonder, distract his mind with her naivete, and lose himself in her unconditional affection without really losing anything at all._  
_She was bright and happy and everything that shone in his eyes. Jewels would look like skipping stones against her._  
_She was an object of fear, because like anything else she could be stolen away, and he could be left with nothing once again._  
_He was constantly battling with the desire to keep her closer and the desire to push her away; even such a warm and steady light could be snuffed, and the last thing he wanted was the ashes on his hands._  
_But he wanted to touch that flame. He wanted so badly to feel its warmth, even if it burnt his fingers._

_"...She's special."_

He snapped out of his reverie at the sound of a bark and a shrill giggle coming from down the perpetually moving hallway. A tangle of white and red and tan sprang into his vision, and he placidly veered out of the way of the oncoming bolt of energy that called herself Edward.

"Eeeeeedward and her trusty sidekick dogboy come to the rescueeeeeee~! Come cowboy woof-woof!"

He looked over his shoulder as Edward passed, followed closely by the ship's resident animal mascot. The gears in his head started to grind; Edward was a girl, right? Maybe Edward could help him out?  
He was a little wary about trusting the feral red head with something so crucial; a virtuoso of the virtual as she was, he couldn't himself remember a time when she had exhibited what he would consider 'normal human behavior'.  
But still, she was something, and something was better than Faye's advice.

"Edward. C'mere for a sec, would ya?"

Spike had raised a hand to his mouth and called out to the girl, his voice echoing through the metal-plated walkway. It was as if the sound waves traveled through the redhead, because she suddenly stopped on one foot and did something he thought could be either a convulsion or an exaggerated twitch, before spinning on the ball of her foot and sprinting back to him.  
He had to take a mindful step back to avoid being right-out nailed by the fierce girl's bare feet. She grinned widely, the kind of grin that showed all 30 of her crooked little teeth and her gums (she's taken out her own wisdom teeth, saying she could better use them for something other than letting them sit in her mouth.)

"Spike-Spike needs my help-help?" she asked inquisitively, letting her head tilt too many degrees to one side. He grunted as she let her head slump bonelessly against her shoulder as if it were natural.  
He examined the circumstance he had placed himself in; he was not one to ask for help, usually the kind of man who charged in to something alone to spare his pride and his allies. But charging into this alone was foolhardy. He could at least admit when he didn't have the understanding required to solve something. And it wasn't as if he were asking someone to do this for him; he was simply asking for advice.

He narrowed his eyes apprehensively. "Maybe. What do you know about things girls like?"

* * *

Once again, he caught himself at what he presumed to be another dead end in his pursuit. Not because he didn't think there wasn't anything a girl would like even remotely around the place he was standing; he happened to be under the canopy of a magazine stand on some god-forsaken Lilliputian-sized archipelago on Earth, surrounded by many little island shops and water crystal clear, save for the few spots where soot would bubble up when a tiny meteor or piece of space rubbish would come hurdling down from the sky and plop into the water with an overdrawn fizzle of lost heat.  
The tiny little island plots had lush green grass atop them, confusing considering the close proximity to salt water they had. Each meager shop stood on stone stilts, most likely built into the ground to keep the building from floating away should the waters suddenly climb. It was quaint, to him; he felt as if her were visiting a tiny tropical community and browsing souvenir shops. However, all the islands were interconnected by sturdy stone bridges and guard rails, stuffed with people going to and from the shops. There was no place selling relics, but busy shops filled with colorful art, clothes, snacks and toys, as well as other shops selling daily necessities such as medicine and boat rides to the main land.

They had landed the Bebop by the mainland and looked around, but all there really was of most of Earth was rubble and garbage and lots of water. Spike took it upon himself to ride a boat with Edward and The Girl to the tiny outreaching island shops, in hopes of furthering the progress of his quest, but mostly because The Girl had begged and pleaded him to take her there with sugar lumps and cherries on top.

The very first thing Edward had told him when they got in the boat was that the bottom was scratchy like the edge of a USB port, and had proceeded to rub her bare foot against the rough grain of wood until she shrieked and cried and shoved her heel in his face, reveling a splinter of substantial size. He had nearly slapped her right out of the boat for sticking her nasty, dirt-caked hoof in his face, but The Girl had stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

"Edwaaaard~! You know wood hurts skin when it's all scratchy like a comb!" she had exclaimed, unabashedly taking hold of the red-haired child's foot in both of her hands and examining it closely. She didn't seem to notice the odd stare she was getting from the rower in front of her, or the fact that her patient was now slumped over the seat and hanging upside down with her foot in the air.  
Her pale fingers had touched the girl's filthy foot, and she had given a soft smile as her fingernails pinched down on the offending sliver. "I've got it. I'm just going to pull it out reeeeally quick-" and then she had jerked her hand back and the red-head had cried out, but the deed was done and the guilty fragment was tossed into the passive ocean.

All of this happened in the course of about thirty seconds, and Spike was still amazed at the fact that he hadn't right out kicked the little cherry-haired brat into the sun.

The rest of the ride wasn't so exciting, only mildly irritating from Edward's incessant singing and soft clapping (though she refrained from stomping and held her feet in the air like she were avoiding pests on the floor). The Girl sat beside him, smiling genially and humming along. He found himself distracted by so trace of a sound from her; it was a reflection of her real voice, and it was soft and gentle like the tame rolls of the water against their vessel. It was a beauty he treasured.  
He remembered once, a long time ago when his heart had been strong and integral, there was someone who had a voice that soft and that amiable. But her voice was like that of a mother; he could be comforted by it, but it left him feeling empty and wistful when it was gone. When it quit, it was as if it had never existed, it had never been done, like it was a simple puff of smoke or the burning of a tea light candle. And he would beg her to sing again, just for him, for that simple satiation of the desire to feel at peace.  
No, this girl, and her cadence, never left him wanting; her voice was melodious and enchanting, and when he fell under her spell she left him well fulfilled, as if she swept into his mind like Snow White and brushed away the cobwebs, leaving only when the place was clean and warm and the tenant at ease. She was different. She wasn't like an apparition or a vision; she was very much real, and very much in front of him, and so very much alive like bright spring flowers out of melting snow.  
She had long, dark hair the color of maple and gentle, always-stunning amber eyes that could brighten like the sun or soften like the smell of warm sugar. She had a grace that was feminine and elegant, but could be suddenly clumsy and air-headed as if all that mattered were the things right in front of her face. She had an impossible naivete, even for a girl her age, and couldn't fathom why he always looked like he was in pain when there was so much to be happy about in life. She was the kind of girl who would stand out in a storm just to feel it on her skin, and he was the idiotic kind of enamored that would stand right next to her without cover just to feel what she felt, even if it only ended in them both being soaked and cold.

Just like bright irises and Snowdrops and Randor lilies, she was like a warm miracle in the middle of an unending cold. The coming to this realization had been tumultuous for him, but in time he accepted this one truth; She was comfort.

But she was also just Kylie. A small girl. A small light that brightened his pitch-black, that could be taken away like any of the other small lights he'd had in his life.

He was wary. He didn't want to rush into something like this; it was different than a gun fight or a chase, where he could simply clamber around until the goal was met and the gunshots silenced.  
He knew this well. But he still could not keep her away.

Their little dory pulled up alongside the sloped dock of a fishing shop, and Edward had hopped out with a squeal of delight and a shout to the fishy trinkets hanging on the walls of the shack. Kylie had gracefully stepped out with her dress hem between her fingers, and held out her hand for him to take.  
"Knowing you and your scrawny stick legs, you'd fall out in a second!" she had giggled, pulling him onto land.

From there, they had walked up to the shop, and she had departed with Edward to look for things to eat. Free to wander, Spike had poked his head into a number of small shops and trinket stands, looking for things she would like, but not finding anything that screamed 'her'. He had just stopped to take a break in the shade.

He looked over his shoulder at the glossy periodicals, scanning for anything that jumped out and said, 'Read this! It'll help you!'. He tried to remember what it was that Faye had said. Something 'Beat' and 'Sixteen' or something.  
The only thing that had the word 'beat' on it was a thick monthly issue of 'Shojo Beat', depicting a girl who looked similar to Kylie in appearance except for the fact that she was in cartoon style. She was being held close by the other person on the cover, a silverette boy with a pistol and a scowl. The cover had bold blue letters screaming titles of popular circulating manga and news on guest interviews of voice actors and manga artists. The whole cover was placed atop a background of bright pink.  
Wincing at the optical assault, he skeptically picked up the Japanese comic aperçu and skimmed through the contents. It was full of samples of manga, news on upcoming projects in anime, explanations of geek culture, and the like. It looked bright and cute, but not 'Kylie'.

Putting back the magazine, and returning the cashier's sardonic expression with a tough-guy frown and a sniff, he ambled away from the shade of the stall and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

What to do?

He ran a hand up into his hair, letting out a discontented sigh. At this rate, he was getting no where, and he really didn't have much time to do this in. He'd thought this would be the perfect time to find what he was looking for, but it seemed that he was once again at the end of a blind alley. Which meant he needed to back up and figure out what he wanted.

He wanted to get her something she would like, but wouldn't take the wrong way (even though there really wasn't a 'wrong way' to take when it came to him). He wanted her to love it, whatever it was he gave her. He wanted to be careful, but at the same time show her a little of what she meant to him.  
There wasn't a jewel or bauble he could see that would accent her striking beauty right, and she was not the kind of girl to take value in expensive things. She would want something that meant something to her, and to him.

He chanced upon a tiny shop with ticking clocks and pottery, and tiny glass figurines forever frozen in a beautiful waltz or watching something that had long since passed. The pieces that littered the shelves looked like works of art in paper or wire rather than silly island trinkets.

He wandered inside the warm boutique and gazed over the various clusters of abstraction, admiring the items, as they looked to be handcrafted. He glanced over the counter filled with glossy jewelry boxes and little snow-globes, and as his fingers curiously brushed against the wood grain of the shelf his eye caught something that shone with the dull, clement reflection of the sun.

Immediately, everything locked into place. It was as if a spotlight from on high had shone down on this one item just for him to see.

She would love it. He had a feeling deep in his gut, and his gut was either very right or slightly wrong, but it never failed him. He knew, just by feeling, that this was the perfect gift.  
He waved his arm over his head, never taking his eyes off the treasure.

" 'Scuse me, how much is this thing?"

* * *

With his final minutes, he cursed his inability to do anything feminine, like wrap a stupid present. It wasn't as if he'd ever had the need to do so in his life, except when he was very young and gave his poor mother little things he made by hand for any holiday that demanded it. She was a strong willed single mother who held up a tiny tenement and pushed him through school with dirt under her nails and the kind of perseverance that can only come from a young mother in poverty. She had died when he was in his early teens, but he could remember her trying to show him how to wrap a box up in newspaper, and laughing when his gift came out looking like he had just slapped shapes onto the box and speckled them with duct tape.  
He had tried to wrap a gift once for the woman in his past, and she had laughed just the same at the travesty of scrunches and tears and quick mends.  
At the very least, he hadn't used duct tape and newspaper; he now had a little box in his hand covered neatly in white parchment, because apparently Jet was good at a lot of things he didn't know about. He wondered what else he didn't know about the Black Dog. Maybe he had been a factory worker when he was younger. Hell, the man could have been a stripper in his twenties and Spike would have been none the wiser, because the men didn't talk all that much about their pasts.

He hadn't the nerve to buy a card to put with the gift, and wouldn't have bought one even if he had, because he was the kind of man who would write, "Hope you like it. It cost me a fortune." or "You still owe me 20 bucks" if he were somehow convinced to write in a card at all.

Before he even walked into the main living room, he stood outside the hallway and drummed his fingers against the wrapped up box. He felt like a complete idiot for being so nervous about some little girl's opinion on a gift. He was an adult facing a small girl. He'd been through dog fights in air ships and combat with syndicate workers all his adult life. He was a damn bounty hunter for godsakes. He didn't get nervous.

He still couldn't move his feet. They felt as heavy as lead now.

"Yummmmmm~! Edward loves the yummy yummy tingly food~!"

He slumped against the wall and listened to the people in the living room converse. He heard the shuffling of bodies against furniture and metal squeak against china; they were just finishing up dinner, which had been chicken in chile sauce and vegetable stir-fry, one of her favorites. He had eaten it all quickly so he could put the finishing touches on his gift.

Of course, Jet had seen him hurry to eat the food he had spent a good deal of money and effort preparing and had followed him out to give him a piece of his mind; he wound up instead helping him gently wrap a present.

Spike heard the clinking of ice in a glass and a soft sigh.  
"What do you suppose is the matter with Spike?" Kylie inquired, to no one in particular. She leaned forward and set down her ice water, picking up her fork and pushing a chick pea around her plate absentmindedly. "He looked like he was worried about something."  
There was a sniff, and a low feminine chuckle.  
"Who knows? With that guy, he was probably so hungry he wolfed it all down, and then the spice kicked in and he went running so no one would see him tearing his tongue out." Faye sighed, stretching her arms over her head.  
"Heeheehee~ No way, Spike isn't that wimpy. Chile sauce isn't even barely spicy at all."  
"So you say, honey, so you say..."

There was the sound of heavy footsteps, and Spike turned his head to see Jet coming down the corridor, a small plate with a pastry in hand. The two gave each other a quick nod before turning to the open walkway to the room.

"Don't get cold feet, lover boy." Jet joked under his breath, earning him an elbow to the ribs, which he took with a grunt and a smile.

"Shut up. I'm not scared of some girl."

"Oh, but I think you are my friend. And not for reasons that are practical."

They both put on their best faces as they walked into the room, holding their gifts.

Kylie's face brightened almost instantaneously upon seeing their cargo. "Uwaaah~! No way! I-Is that for me?"

Jet grinned, placing the small plate with a frothy slice of french silk pie in front of her. He whipped a match out of his pocket and stuck it on the top.

"Happy Birthday, kiddo. You're as much a member of the Bebop as any of us now, huh?"

She giggled as Spike set down his box and pulled a lighter from his pocket, igniting the match with a lick of flame. Edward gave a high-pitched cheep and lept up, clapping her hands and singing 'Happy Birthday' as loudly and as off-key as she could. The other adults thought better than to interrupt, so they simply clapped when Edward finished her little aria and bowed deeply.

"Make a wish, make a wish~!"

Kylie smiled sheepishly, pulling her hair back and closing her eyes tightly as she leaned forward. After a few seconds of what looked like her trying to squeeze the words out of her ears, she opened her eyes and blew out the match.

"Yaaaaaaaaaay now it's time for PRESENTS~! Gimme gimme~!"

"Cripes, Ed, they ain't for you!"

"D'awww..."

Kylie smiled softly as she was handed a small, thin card by Faye, containing a 2,000 Woolong note and a message saying, "Just don't buy drugs or anything. Buy something girly like a thong."

After getting over the insinuation that she wasn't very womanly despite her age and the blush that followed, she received her second gift, from Edward. She wasn't sure what to make of it because it looked like a tangle of cords with google eyes and patches of fur taped on it. Edward cheerfully explained that it was her friend Chootsy, and Chootsy was better off in her hands now because Edward didn't play with him much anymore. Kylie gratefully accepted the strange toy-like-thing and set it next to her card.

Ein padded up and set his favorite chewing toy at her feet. She giggled and scratched the dog's ears lovingly. She knew it meant a lot to the adorable pooch.

Jet gave her a little toy rabbit made of patchwork. He said it reminded him of her when he saw it and he thought she would like it because didn't all girls like dolls? She said she did, and hugged him tightly around the waist before sitting down with the toy in her arms, looking up at Spike in composed expectancy.

He almost laughed at the sparkle her eyes gave of, because while her expression remained soft and calm, her eyes gave off a look of 'oh pleasepleaseplease have a present for me~!'.  
He seated himself on the arm of her lounge chair and passed the wrapped box into her hands. "Here. It's just a little somethin' I found. Thought you'd like it, I guess..."

'Smooth, smooth, you're playing it off well,' he complimented himself internally.

The girl clapped her hands together and set to ripping the paper off the box, depositing the trash at her sides. She let out a soft gasp when it was revealed what was under the paper.

"...Spike, this..."

It was a box of polished walnut wood, smooth and shining with brilliant laquor. The lid had an elegant carving of a honeysuckle vine with rolling curves adorned with tiny leaves and thin blossoms. The only thing divergent of the box was the tiny silver key jutting out of the side, which she ran her fingers over delicately.

It was a jewelry box that had once belonged to his mother, when she was alive. It was the only luxurious thing she held on to, and she had treasured it greatly. Spike had kept it in her honor, and because the tinkling tune that played when you cranked the key reminded him of nights when he couldn't sleep, and his mother had laid next to him and hummed a lullaby.  
But the box hadn't seen the light of day since his last year in the Red Dragon Syndicate, when he thought that The Woman's gentle tune was enough to keep him going. It had been lost midst boxes and clothes he grabbed when he left Mars for good.  
But Kylie had found it by chance once, four years after the fact, and loved it immensely. When she turned the crank and the music played, her eyes lit up with such animated joy that he'd been forced to sit on his windowsill and watch her admire the treasure rather than tell her to put it back.  
He didn't have a use for it, and he knew how much she loved it. He thought it appropriate to give it to someone who would.

The quiet ring of notes played from the box as she gently turned the key, the song "If I Were A Bird (Boku Wa, Tori Ni Naru)" playing softly from the confines of the wood.

She closed her eyes and hummed along to the delicate melody, and he could just hear the lyrics in his head.

When I just cannot find my way,  
You are always there for me  
When am so far out of way,  
You are always there for me

She gave a soft sigh and her smile, ever kind, rose up on her cheeks. "I know you... this means a lot to me. Thank you, Spike."

He shook his head. "Nah. That's not it. Open it up."

She whipped her head in his direction, surprised, but he simply smirked and gave a nod in the direction of the box.  
"Go ahead."

Hesitantly, she pushed the lid open, and the melody became a little louder, though still muffled by a wainscoted panel of wood on the lid. The box was interlined with plush, blood red velvet.  
Right atop the pillow of red was a small, slim bauble of silver and resin. It looked to be a pod of amber, set on a stand of silver held fast by thin silver vines and a silver crown atop. Encased in the resin was a tiny blue rose, accented by tufts of pale baby's breath.

He had read in one of Jet's botany books that the baby's breath meant innocence and purity of heart. He had also read that the rose resembled love.  
Specifically, the blue rose meant attaining the impossible, and love at first sight.

Perhaps he hadn't meant to fall in love with this girl, not when he was still trying to seal his heart from the world. But even if he hadn't seen it then, the first time he met her, he could look back and say that in truth he had always loved the thought of her.  
In a way, he _had_ attained the impossible; emotions of affection towards another person whom he was so afraid of, yet so very hopelessly, horribly enamored with.

The gaze she paid him, after a few seconds of admiring the beautiful trinket, told him that she understood.


End file.
